McWho?
by somehowunbroken
Summary: Silly short stories, written for a challenge to incorporate a silly McGee-nickname into a story. No real spoilers.
1. McSatan

Disclaimer: If only.

Summary (explanation?): My sister challenged me to write a story with Tony calling our favorite Probie "McSatan." This ensued.

* * *

"Creepy," Tony declared as he walked out of the house. Their dead Navy lieutenant had lived next door to this home, and had been killed inside it. After a thorough search of the premises, the team had found evidence of witchcraft. It appeared that Lieutenant Banks had been killed as some sort of sacrifice.

"Very creepy," Ziva agreed. Then, "This is something that Abby would find fascinating."

"Beyond words," Tony agreed. "Hey, where's McGee?"

"I do not know," Ziva replied, unconcerned. "Perhaps he found something inside."

"I'm sure he found plenty of things inside," Tony said darkly, looking apprehensively back at the door to the house.

Ziva laughed. "You do not think the house has eaten him, do you?" she teased. "Come on, let's go find him."

Tony trailed far behind her as she strode purposefully into the house. They walked around the entire home, clearing it room by room, and found no trace of McGee.

"Where could he be?" A frown crossed Ziva's face as she concentrated. "He has not left the scene, unless he walked away. He is not in the house. He is not in the yard…"

"Hey!" Tony's voice came from the back of the house. The kitchen, if Ziva remembered correctly. She walked quickly to where her partner stood, pointing out a window to a small shed.

Ziva reached out and cuffed Tony's head. "Ow!" he complained. "What the-"

"For not realizing he was there earlier," she said simply, reaching for the back door.

They walked across the yard, approaching the shed. Both froze as they heard the sounds of a struggle from within. A split-second later, their weapons were drawn and they were running to the small building.

"Federal agents!" Tony yelled, sweeping his gun up as Ziva covered the lower angle. McGee sat in the middle of the room, next to a…

"What did you catch?" Tony asked suspiciously, gun now trained near McGee's feet.

"Chickens," McGee said, as if it were to be expected. "Tied up in a sack."

"Why would chickens be tied up in a sack?" Tony asked slowly. Ziva had holstered her gun and was now kneeling next to the burlap bag, cutting the tie with her knife.

"Chicken blood is used in a lot of ritual sacrifices," McGee said absently, holding the bag as Ziva pulled out three live chickens. "Do you think we'll need to take these in as evidence?"

"How do you _know_ that, McSatan?" Tony asked, frustrated. "Why is it that every time we have some weird evidence, something spooky, something… _occult_, you're the one with the automatic encyclopedia entry?" He paused, looking at the younger agent suspiciously. "You're not some kind of animal-sacrificing blood-drinking weirdo hippie, are you, McGee?"

"From what I understand of the hippies, Tony, they are not likely to be either animal-sacrificing or blood-drinking," Ziva stated, rising from the floor. She looked to Tony. "Call Abby. I will call Gibbs to see if we need to bring those in for Abby to examine." She walked out, phone already at her ear.

Tony dialed his phone, still staring at McGee.

"Tony, I spend a lot of time with Abby," McGee tried to explain, but Tony's eyes widened and he waved the hand not holding the phone hastily in front of him.

"I do _not_ want to know whatever you could possibly be trying to tell me right now, Probie," Tony said, and practically ran from the shed.

McGee looked down at the chickens. "Typical," he muttered. "He wants me to explain, but doesn't want to hear the explanation." He knelt down again and held his hand out to the nearest chicken.

"You're going to like Abby," he said to the bird as Ziva walked back in, telling him to bring the animals back to the lab. "But probably not as much as she's going to like you."

* * *

I'm thinking of doing a few of these. Any ideas for what else I can call McGee?


	2. McBond

I want to clarify a point from the last chapter: I was NOT referencing Wicca when I referred to witchcraft. I didn't mean to offend anyone by insinuating that Wiccans participate in blood sacrifice. That's not what Wicca is about.

In this chapter: McBond, contributed by master0gre65, who gave me a great list to work with!

* * *

McGee fidgeted nervously with his tie. He felt ridiculously overdressed, but… he was really just stopping into NCIS, picking up a file, and then leaving. He was on his way to a wedding, he told himself. He was going to a wedding. He was allowed to be ridiculously overdressed.

McGee peered out of the elevator as the doors dinged softly and slid open. The bullpen appeared to be empty, and McGee let out a sigh of relief. He darted from the elevator and to his desk, reaching to the corner just to the right of his mouse, where he had left –

Where was it?

The Clearey file was missing. McGee walked around the back of his desk and looked over the side, but it hadn't fallen to the floor (_thank God_, McGee thought, _that would be a mess_). He opened the first drawer and rustled through the things that had accumulated there, to no avail. He opened the second drawer, then the third, and still the file was nowhere to be seen.

McGee sighed in annoyance and stood, hands on hips inside his jacket. A low whistle came from the entrance to the bullpen, and McGee turned and saw Tony staring at him. Or, more precisely, at his clothing.

"Nice tux, McBond," Tony said, walking to McGee and touching the material. "Calvin Klein, two button, notch lapel… one hundred percent wool." He let the material drop from his fingertips and stepped back, as if suddenly realizing exactly how close he was standing to his coworker.

"Why the more-formal-than-usual-wear, Probie?" Tony asked.

"I'm going to a wedding," McGee said, turning again to his desk. This was exactly what he had wanted to avoid tonight. "I'm going to be _in_ a wedding, actually."

"You?" Tony's face lit up. "Whose wedding? Could it be… Mr. Bond himself?"

"Well, yes," McGee replied absently, rooting again through the papers on his desk, already knowing that the file wouldn't have magically appeared while his back was turned. "Alex Bond, though, no relation. My roommate from MIT. It's one of those theme weddings, and Laura has a sense of humor, so it's a Bond themed wedding." He almost pouted at his desk's inability to produce papers on a whim. He settled for kicking the metal, then anxiously examining his shoe to see if he had scuffed it. It was still shiny.

Tony chuckled. "That'd be a wedding to see."

McGee snorted. "Yeah, it probably will be. But now," he said, checking his watch, "I'm late. I have to pick my date up and be there in an hour and I'm never going to get there if I don't find the Clearey file, which has picked a really terrible time to disappear!" He finished with another kick to his desk.

Tony stared at him. "McGee," he said slowly, "you took that file home with you this afternoon."

McGee stared right back at Tony. "No, I didn't."

Tony nodded. "Yes, you did. It was sitting there," he indicated the spot by the mouse that McGee had first searched, "and you picked it up and put it in your man-purse." Tony reached into McGee's shoulder bag and pulled something out, tapping him on the shoulder with it. "I found it," he said unnecessarily. McGee groaned.

"I cannot believe…" He grabbed the file from Tony, shoved it back into his bag, and rushed towards the elevator.

Tony smiled after the other man, then froze as a thought occurred to him.

"Hey, McBond, did you say _date_?"

* * *

Hope you enjoyed! If you've got a fun new name for McGee, leave it in a review and I'll try to write it. I'm going to sttempt to do as many of these as possible over the next little while, so keep 'em coming!


	3. McLobster

Okay, so I wasn't going to do another tonight, but Celeste-Love left this name in a review, and the scene was so funny in my head that I had to get it out.

* * *

McGee hated the sun.

Hate, hate, _hate_. It was really the only emotion he could think to summon as he stepped gingerly into the bullpen. Tony and Ziva were both on their phones and took no notice of him as he walked past their desks to his own. Gibbs, however, stared straight at him. McGee winced under the gaze, then winced again when the movement hurt his face.

"Long weekend, McGee?" Gibbs asked wryly as McGee carefully sat down at his desk.

Tony, who was just hanging up his phone, looked over with a grin, but whatever he was going to say died on his lips as he got a good look at McGee. Tony shuddered. "Ouch."

"I agree," McGee said, trying very hard not to move any more than was absolutely necessary. "Very ouch."

Ziva looked at McGee as well. "You should wear sunscreen," she advised. "Your skin is very fair, McGee. Sunburn can be very harmful."

McGee tried to glare a burn onto her dark skin, but was unsuccessful.

"You're like a McLobster," Tony said finally. "Red all over. Everywhere." He shuddered again. "Not… _everywhere_, right, Probie?"

McGee shook his head the tiniest bit. "I fell asleep by the pool in my apartment complex," he explained. "I only stopped to talk to my neighbor for a minute, and she convinced me to lay out with her for a while. I fell asleep and she didn't want to wake me up, or so she said."

Tony nodded. "Women," he said sympathetically.

Ziva threw a paperclip that hit him on the end of the nose. "Why would she not wake you?"

McGee rolled his eyes, one of the only motions that caused him no additional pain. "I don't even know why she asked me to sit down, Ziva. I don't really know her that well." He paused. "Although she did offer to help me put aloe on the burns."

"Aha!" Tony cried. "She _wants_ you, Probie."

"Wants you cooked," Gibbs said, standing. "McGee, take some aspirin or something, or put more of that aloe goo on yourself. Get some help if you need to. You're staying inside today. You two," he pointed to Tony and Ziva, "are coming with me. Dead colonel at Rock Creek."

The team scattered, and McGee slowly made his way back to his desk. Painkillers and aloe sounded like a wonderful idea. He walked to the elevator and, a few moments later, through the doors of Autopsy.

"Ducky," he called. There didn't seem to be anyone in here.

McGee walked slowly, agonizingly, to the nearest autopsy table. His red hand brushed the metal of the table, and the cool surface made him close his eyes in silent thanks for the moment of relief it brought him. His eyes snapped open quickly and he surveyed the autopsy table's surface.

A few pained moments later, McGee's jacket was on the floor, and he was stretched on the cold autopsy table. The chill of the metal lanced instantly through his thin shirt and cooled his seared back. McGee closed his eyes in bliss. Would Ducky let him borrow one of these for a night or two?

A gasp and a loud clatter made his eyes snap open, and he was sitting and reaching for the gun that he'd also taken off before he could even think. He groaned as the stinging pain shot through him and looked up at Palmer's white face and horrified expression.

"Oh, God, I come in and you're lying on that table with your eyes closed and all burned, and I thought-" Palmer's panicked voice sped through his jumbled thoughts. He took a step forward and kicked the tools he'd dropped. "Oh, and I dropped these," he said, as if surprised. He knelt and began to put the tools back on the tray.

"Do be careful, Mr. Palmer," Ducky's voice scolded from the next room. "You'll have to sanitize all of those again. What on Earth made you…"

Ducky's voice trailed off as he rounded the corner and saw McGee, still sitting on the autopsy table, with a grimace on his cartoonishly red face. "Oh, dear. Timothy, what happened to your face?"

"To all of me," McGee said. "Sunburn. Tony thinks the girl next door has a thing for me, but I think she's just evil."

Ducky nodded slowly. "Sunburn," he said, picking out the only part of the story that made any sense to him. "Well, let's have a look."

Ducky had just finished applying his own brand of sunburn cream half an hour later when the door to Autopsy banged open and Gibbs came through. "Got a body coming in, Duck," he said. Then, "Jesus, McGee."

Ducky nodded sympathetically. "He's done quite a thorough job of burning himself," he said.

"It was the sun," McGee protested weakly. "It's not like I took a flamethrower to myself."

"That sounds excruciatingly painful," Palmer said helpfully as he aided McGee in his quest to get his shirt back over his shoulders. "Of course, that is to say, it's not that this _doesn't_ look painful, just that-"

"Leave it, Palmer," Gibbs said, walking to the door. "McGee, can you handle staying around today, or should I put a sick day through for your…" He surveyed McGee again as the agent stood from the autopsy table. "Your condition?" he finished.

"I can handle it, boss," McGee said bravely. Gibbs nodded and exited towards the elevator.

"Good man," Ducky said, clapping McGee on the shoulder.

McGee's eyes widened so far that Palmer thought they'd fall out of his head, but McGee only smiled weakly and said, in a very high voice, "Thanks."


	4. McSleepy

Thanks to Gail Gregg for the suggestion!

Warning: McAbby in this one. If it's not your thing, come back for the next chapter :)

* * *

The sound was annoyingly cheerful, absurdly happy, astonishingly… close to his face?

McGee sat up quickly, fumbling at his bedside table for the gun he kept there. It wasn't loaded, of course, and as McGee reached for it, he cursed the time he'd thought that it would be safer to leave it unloaded. Of course it would be unsafe if it were loaded. It was a gun. Its job was to be unsafe. Now he needed it, and what if he didn't have enough time to load it?

Then he heard the giggling.

"You talk in your sleep," Abby informed him. McGee stared at her, one arm still buried in the bedside table's drawer, the other suddenly concerned with keeping the sheet pulled to his chin. The thin cotton was the only thing between Abby's eyes and his pajamas.

…where were his pajamas?

Abby was laughing in full force now. McGee stared comically at himself, pulling the sheet a few inches from where he had it gathered around his chest, then looking at Abby.

"Where are my pajamas?" he asked suspiciously. A more pressing question entered his mind. "And what are you doing here?"

Abby gave him a cheeky smile. "Come on, McSleepy, get with it." She twirled around, and the skirt she was wearing flared. McGee's eyes were drawn to it, and Abby's eyes danced as she laughed again. "I'll make breakfast," she chirped, bouncing from the room.

McGee waited until he heard the door to the refrigerator open before he pulled the sheet back all the way. Definitely no pajamas. He always slept in pajamas. He wasn't Tony. Where were his pajamas?

McGee decided to put that particular mystery off until later. He put a robe on, checked out the bedroom door (she was still in the kitchen) and ran to the bathroom. Once inside, he locked the door and got in the shower.

Two minutes into his shower, he was startled by a sudden pounding on the door. "McGee!" Abby wailed from just outside. "Why would you lock the door? I have to pee!"

"I'm in the _shower_, Abby!" he exclaimed, amazed. "I always lock the door!"

McGee heard a scratching noise and poked his head out just in time to see the door swing open. Abby rushed in.

"Head back in the shower, McGee," she ordered.

He quickly pulled his head back inside the curtain and stood very, very still. When had his life become a circus? "Did you pick the lock on the bathroom door?" he asked after a moment.

"I told you I had to pee, McGee. Would you rather I had done so in the sink in the kitchen?"

McGee shuddered. "Well, no," he said, shutting the water off. "Um, are you done?"

"Yes," she answered. "Are you?"

"Um, well, yeah," he said, dripping wet in the bathtub. "I'd like to get out, so if you wouldn't mind…" He shut his mouth abruptly as a hand popped into the shower, shoving a towel in his direction. "Abby!" he squeaked.

"Been there, seen that, McGee," she chimed. "Come on, I made pancakes."

"Are you going to tell me what's going on here?" he called after her as she left the room.

"You really don't remember?" Abby asked incredulously. "Like, seriously, for real, don't know?"

McGee was suddenly wary. "No…" he replied hesitantly, unsure if he'd forgotten something terribly important. He suddenly paled. He hadn't… with Abby… had he? Oh, God, Gibbs was going to _kill_ him..

He finished dressing and walked into the kitchen, where Abby was serving pancakes onto plates. He sat down, deciding that he'd just pretend this was normal, because thinking about any possible alternative made him feel queasy, and the pancakes _did_ smell good.

"So," he ventured a few pancakes later. "Will you tell me?"

Abby looked at him innocently. "Tell you what?" It must not have been _that_, then, because she wouldn't be in a good mood if he forgot about doing that. With her. He was pretty sure.

"Well, why you're here at-" He checked his watch. "Eight on a Saturday morning, for one. Also, why did I wake up naked?"

Abby's smile grew until he was pretty sure her face was going to split in half. She leaned close to his ear, and McGee gulped, unconsciously leaning closer to her.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" she said, laughing at the disappointed scowl on his face.


	5. McTingles

This one was suggested by AndIt'sBeginningToSnow... and it was challenging to come up with one for this! I kinda like how it turned out though :)

* * *

The dead petty officer was found within their jurisdiction, but his hometown was in West Virginia. Tony had suggested just sending a local team to investigate there, but no, Gibbs was certain that there would be _something_ there that only his team could find. While flattered, McGee still wasn't looking forward to a two hour ride in the back of the NCIS van.

True to form, Ziva and Tony sat in the front of the van the entire trip, arguing about _The Sound of Music_ and some musical adaptation of _Hamlet_ that he'd never heard of. He slumped down in the back seat, surreptitiously slipping his iPod's headphones into his ears. The soothing jazz soon put him to sleep.

--

"MCGEE!"

McGee jumped, hit his head on something, fell back into his seat, and hit his head on something else, all in the span of a few seconds. Tony and Ziva were outside, laughing hysterically as McGee sat, stunned, in the seat. He shook his head and clambered out a moment later.

"Funny, very funny," he growled at them. "Like I wanted to talk about musicals all the way here?"

Ziva looked hurt. "I love musicals!"

"Yeah, Probie," Tony said, heading into the fill station's convenience store to ask for directions to the petty officer's home. "You need to broaden your horizons. Watch some Julie Andrews. She was really something in her day…"

Ziva nodded. "She was brilliant in everything she ever did. _The Sound of Music, Thoroughly Modern Millie…_ even _Mary Poppins._"

"You've seen _Mary Poppins_?" McGee asked in disbelief.

Ziva nodded. "It was childish, but the songs were excellent," she pointed out, then began to sing. "Just a spoonful of sugar…"

"Makes the next leg of the trip quicker," Tony said, emerging from the store. "We're about half an hour from where we need to be. Come on, back in the van."

Ziva, still humming, sat in her seat, and McGee climbed into the back again, somewhat less happily.

--

They finally arrived at the petty officer's home forty-five minutes later (Tony had turned right when he should have turned left at the only turn they'd had to make), and McGee was dying to get out of the car. Between Ziva singing songs from various musicals and Tony grumbling that he didn't _need_ directions, McGee felt like he was ten again, in the back of his parents' minivan as they drove from Maryland to Iowa to visit his grandparents. He shuddered. That was not something he wanted to think about.

Tony and Ziva hopped out of the van and walked to the house, knocking and entering when the door was opened by a young woman with masses of curly brown hair. McGee squatted in the back of the van, collecting the equipment they would need to conduct a thorough examination of the premises. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, frowning as he worked.

"Probie!"Tony yelled, coming out of the house. "You planning on joining us, or…"

The rest of the barb died on his lips as he looked at the back of the van. McGee was balanced on one leg, holding onto the door of the vehicle, and shaking the other leg vigorously.

"Even though I'm pretty sure I know the answer to this one already… do I even want to know what's going on here?" Tony queried, walking to where McGee was… standing? dancing? wriggling?

"I was crouching in the back of the van," McGee complained. "Which is usually fine, but since we had that long drive and my legs were already sore from sitting in the back, I now have pins and needles in my left leg." He gave the offending limb another vigorous shake for emphasis.

Tony grinned and smacked McGee's leg. Hard. "Ow!"

"Always helps when my leg falls asleep," Tony deadpanned before grabbing one of the boxes that McGee had packed and heading to the house. "Come on, McTingles, let's get this wrapped up so we can get back home!"

"Great," McGee groaned. "Another ride in the back of the van."


	6. McMarshmallow

Thanks to BrandSpankingNew for this one!

* * *

McGee walked out of his apartment, turned, and immediately walked back through the door.

It was _cold_ out there. Holy cow. It was late September, and McGee checked the thermometer in the window as he passed it on his way to the closet. It had no business being 46 degrees in September. So much for that last little bit of summer.

McGee picked through the items in his closet; most of his winter things were in storage, but he'd thought to leave one coat behind. He groaned as he pulled it from the closet. It was black and puffy, filled with goose down; warm, yes, but it made him feel absolutely ridiculous to wear it. It had been a gift from his parents a few years back, before all of the money he'd made from his novels, just after he'd become a full-time part of Gibbs' team. He had worn it, mostly just to family occasions, and always with the feeling that someone, someday, was going to think that he was actually that size on his own, without the coat.

McGee sighed again, pulling the coat over his arms and zipping it up all the way. He pulled the gloves from the pockets of the coat – _always prepared_ – and headed for the door again.

McGee almost took the coat off when he reached his car, but the heater had been acting up last winter, and he hadn't bothered to have it looked at over the warm DC summer. He left the offending garment on as he drove to work.

B y the time McGee reached the Navy Yard, he had warmed considerably, and had honestly forgotten all about his ridiculous coat. He was, instead, thinking about the new case they'd gotten yesterday; a high-ranking Naval official had been found in his car, dead of a gunshot wound to the heart, and though Palmer was fairly sure that it was a suicide, the rest of the team was working on checking out the specifics. Personally, McGee couldn't wait for Ducky to come back from his vacation; Palmer was making assumptions and telling stories and generally trying too hard to be his mentor, and it was driving everyone crazy.

McGee parked his car and ran to the elevator, making it in what felt like record time. He stepped out on his own floor a moment later and strolled to his desk.

Only when he heard Tony's voice did McGee recall what he was wearing. "What's with the coat, McMarshmallow?"

McGee looked down, remembered his morning, and flushed. "Everything else is in storage," he tried to explain.

"You put your good winter coat in storage and kept this out?" Tony asked, plucking at the shoulder of the puffy coat. "You look like the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man."

"The what?" Ziva asked from her desk. She was pulling an orange beanie from her own head and stuffing it inside her backpack.

"Movie," McGee said.

"_Ghostbusters,_" Tony said at the same time. "It's not just a movie, Ziva, it's a comedic masterpiece…"

McGee quickly pulled the jacket off and tucked it safely behind his desk while Tony was distracted, explaining the finer plot details of the movie to Ziva. The team settled down and got to work, McGee's coat no longer a topic of conversation. The day progressed as per usual; for once, Palmer's original assessment turned out to be correct, and the case was wrapped up rather quickly.

Then, at the end of the day, as McGee put the coat back on and headed to the elevator, Ziva called after him.

"Goodnight, McStay-Puft!"

McGee groaned, vowing to get the rest of his winter clothes from storage that evening.

* * *

I'm not going to comment on whether or not McGee and Abby... did ... _that_... last chapter ;) If youw ant to think that, go ahead, and if you don't, you don't have to. Isn't choose-your-own wonderful?

Thanks to everyone for your great suggestions!


	7. McSullen

This one is thanks to my beta, koolkels :)

* * *

McGee stared at his computer. His email program's inbox was depressingly empty. He checked it again, then minimized the window, only to open it up again less than a minute later. Still nothing.

McGee sighed aloud. There was nobody else in the bullpen; they were all off on various errands, and he was sitting. Working. Well, he was supposed to be working, at least.

He opened the program again, clicked the "Get Mail" button, and sighed again, louder this time. He jumped out of his chair when a voice came from behind him.

"What's up, McSullen?" Tony asked, leaning on the partition. "Sad that nobody wants to talk to you today?"

"I'm waiting for an email from my publisher," he informed the older agent. "I gave her a copy of the first few chapters of _Traces of Evidence_ last week, and she promised she'd get back to me by today."

"Cheer up," Tony said offhandedly. "No news is good news, right?"

"Not in writing," McGee said glumly. "No news means something's wrong. She found some major plot hole, or she hates something, or whatever. Good news would have been her calling me three days ago to tell me it was so good that she couldn't put it down."

"Oh," was all Tony could think to say. He tossed a wad of paper in the air, catching it as it came back down. McGee watched him, finding the rhythm of the game oddly soothing.

"I hate lawyers," Ziva growled as she stalked back into the bullpen. She was holding a piece of paper tightly in her hands. "I really, really do. I hate every lawyer that ever passed the stick."

Tony looked confused. "The what?"

"I think she means the bar," Gibbs said as he walked in. "Got the warrant, Ziva?"

Ziva thrust the paper at him. "No, but I have this," she snarled. "More red tape to go through. I hate lawyers!"

A soft _ding_ came from McGee's computer. His hand crawled towards his mouse, but Gibbs' omniscience prevented him from looking at the source of the sound. "Later, McGee. I need you to work on getting this warrant. Seems like they're stonewalling Ziva at every turn. Give her a hand."

McGee made a face, but did as he was told. The entire time, all he thought was, _I bet she hates it. All of it. I'm going to have to start over._

They had the warrant in hand no less than an hour later, and Gibbs had ordered them to grab their gear and get in the truck. McGee paused, thinking. _I'll just read it quickly._

His groan was louder than the last two combined when he saw the email.

_Meet Your Dream Girl at Virginia Singled Out!_


	8. McStumbles

Thanks to Lerrinus for this one!

* * *

McGee was running.

Not jogging, not walking quickly, but full-out running. Gibbs was in an especially foul mood and had been since they'd gotten this case. The victim's husband had served with Gibbs years before, and the boss wanted this one wrapped up quickly for his old friend. Unfortunately, the evidence was leading in so many different directions that it was proving impossible to even get a solid lead, let alone actually wrap anything up.

So now McGee was skidding into Autopsy, looking for Ducky, trying to get the new tissue samples so he could run them faster than was humanly possible back to Abby, who would retest the new samples and hope fir different results. He took the last corner too sharply and barely stopped himself from falling by grabbing an autopsy table to steady himself.

"Watch it there, McStumbles," Palmer said from across the room, a cheeky grin on his face. McGee leveled his best glare at the assistant medical examiner, and to his intense surprise, the other man wilted under the gaze.

"Sorry, Agent McGee, I just… well, Tony does it all the time… I thought… I'm really sorry, really…" McGee cut him off, not wanting to hear the man's frantic stuttering apology.

"Whatever, Palmer, it's just not the time. I need the new samples Ducky took from the vic."

"…sorry, and I… what?" Palmer had continued to blabber on while McGee spoke, and was now looking at him, confused.

"New tissue samples? Alyson Harris?"

Palmer blinked once more before springing into action. "Oh, right, Dr. Mallard left them over here." He dashed across the room, trying to get into the refrigerator and hand McGee the samples at the same time, resulting in him slamming his hand in the door. Palmer winced and quickly walked back to McGee, handing him the samples as he frowned at his hand.

"You gonna be all right there, Palmer?" McGee asked as he raced back out the door. He didn't hear the young man's answer as he headed to the elevator. As he turned the last corner in the hallway, he ran straight into Tony. McGee bounced back into the wall.

"Hey there, McStumbles," Tony greeted as he ran by.

It wasn't until he was safely ensconced in the elevator, on his way back to the lab with the precious tissue samples, that it occurred to him. Tony had called him McStumbles. Palmer had called him the same thing.

Coincidence?

McGee had no more time to contemplate the occurrence as the elevator dinged open and he was once again overtaken by the urgency of the case.


	9. McHefner

I like how this one turned out - thanks to pippy93 for the name!

* * *

_Note to self_, McGee thought, _never offer to drive to the bar when Tony's involved._

The case had been one of the easier ones of late. It had been open-and-shut; the man who had assaulted their Navy lieutenant had turned himself in before they had finished taking her statement. Tony had offered to buy the first few rounds if the team wanted to go out, and in the spirit of sharing good deeds, McGee had offered to be their designated driver.

Now Tony was sitting at the bar, well past drunk and dangerously close to oblivion. Ziva was next to him, and McGee wasn't sure who was supporting who. He finally decided that both would be on the floor without the other there to prop them up.

McGee himself was sitting at the end of the bar, next to Abby, who was lying with her head on the dark wood, muttering about Bert and a clock and some sort of chemical reaction. He was trying very, very hard not to pay attention. There was a group of younger women in the corner. McGee was pretty sure he recognized some friends of Sarah's in the cluster of giggling girls.

One of them broke away from the group when he glanced over for the third or fourth time. "Hi, I'm Brooke," she said, standing too close to McGee for his own comfort. "Um, you look really familiar."

"Do you go to Waverly?" he asked, almost certain that he recognized her face as well.

"No. Are you, like, a professor there?"

_Professor?_ McGee tried to look at his outfit surreptitiously. Did he really look like a professor? Well, his jacket was tweed…

"No – I'm not a – my sister goes there," he stammered. "I figured maybe you'd seen me while I was visiting her."

"Oh," Brooke said. "No. I didn't go to college. I work at the Kroeger."

"Oh," McGee responded. What else was there to say? Though maybe that's where he knew her from…

Brooke's eyes suddenly widened. "Oh. My. God. You're Thom E. Gemcity!"

Before McGee could say anything, Brooke was waving to the gaggle of girls still in the corner. "Liza! Annie! Trish! Do you guys _know_ who this is?"

The girls swarmed around him, and McGee suddenly found himself buried in questions about _Deep Six _and _Rock Hollow_ and what was supposed to happen next to Tibbs and were Tommy and Lisa ever going to get together?

McGee shot a look at Tony and Ziva, who were leaning more heavily on each other, Tony's arm slung around Ziva's waist, and for once Ziva letting him keep it there. _Probably._

Tony looked up and noticed McGee's gaze. He also noticed the crowd of girls around his coworker.

"Hey, McHefner, nice going," he called, slurring his words and giving McGee a thumbs-up.

McGee only rolled his eyes. Tony was drunk. Very drunk.

The girls simpered and giggled more, and Abby suddenly shot her head up and glared at all of them.

"Go away," she said simply. Her eyeliner was smudged and her hair mussed, making her look… well, rather scary, McGee decided.

Brooke took a step back. "Um, who's this, Thom?" A light clicked on in her brain. "Ohmigawd! Amy! It's Amy!" She leaned towards Abby, beaming. "Hi, I'm Brooke!"

"I know," Abby growled. "And I'm drunk and I'm tired and my head hurts, and I want you to go away."

Brooke looked hurt and she turned back to McGee. "Well, I guess Amy doesn't like me very much," she pouted.

"Nothing personal, I'm sure," McGee said. "But I think that Ab- that Amy and I are going to be on our way, so if you don't mind…" He stood, leaning to help Abby stand.

Brooke smiled again. "Okay! It was great to meet you again!" At McGee's confused look, she added, "The book signing? Borders on Seventh?"

Oh. That's where he knew her from. A book signing. "Yeah, you too, Brooke."

Brooke threw herself forward, hugging McGee tightly around the neck and planting a huge kiss on his cheek. He stood, stunned, as she pulled away and waved, moving back into the crowd.

"Nice, McHefner," Tony said from right behind him, holding tightly to an equally inebriated Ziva. "Who's the bunny?"

"A fan," McGee said simply. "Let's get you guys home."

Tony laughed as they left the bar. "McGee has fans!" he said, too loudly, into Ziva's ear. She just giggled, very un-Ziva-like, and nodded.

"Fans! Who knew?"

"Keep it up," McGee muttered as he loaded his friends into his car. "Keep it up and I'll leave you here and you can all _walk_ home."


	10. MacGyver

Whoa, there's action in this one! Thanks to BrandSpankingNew and to The-Cursed-Daughter, who both submitted this name.

* * *

They were locked in.

The entire team was locked in a warehouse. And that warehouse was on fire.

"Not good, not good, not good," McGee muttered as he shifted Ziva's weight on his shoulder. She had been hit by a falling bit of building, and when she'd leaned over to inspect the injury, she'd been hit on the head with another falling timber. McGee had managed to get her slung over his shoulder, and the group had moved on. Tony had already been helping Gibbs, who had been shot in the leg by their suspect, who had then fled, locked them in, and set the building on fire. Now they were standing in a reception area, face-to-face with a gigantic locked door.

"Brilliant observation," Tony snapped, helping Gibbs sit near the wall. "Cleaner air down by the floor, boss."

Gibbs tried to glare at the agent, but the usual power the gaze held was nowhere to be found.

McGee sat Ziva's still-unconscious form beside Gibbs and studied the door. It was definitely locked from the outside, with no way to open it from within.

"How are we going to get out of here?" Tony asked him, trying to be quiet so as not to alarm Gibbs, whose breathing was getting heavier. McGee shook his head, unsure.

"I mean, I can pick locks, Tony, but I have to be able to see them to do it," McGee replied. Tony nodded grimly.

"Can we break it down?"

McGee shook his head. "Not likely." He pointed towards the ceiling, then along the sides of the door. "Reinforced all the way up."

Tony closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Think, DiNozzo," he said aloud.

McGee pulled out his cell phone and tried again to place a call. He almost shouted when he heard the voice on the other end of the line.

"911, what is your emergency?"

"This is Special Agent Timothy McGee, NCIS," he barked into the phone. "My team is stuck in a warehouse near the docks. It's on fire. We've got two down, and we're locked inside."

"Agent McGee, the fire trucks are already on their way to your location. I'll send an ambulance your way as well."

"Make it two," McGee said, surveying Gibbs and Ziva. They'd both need to get to a hospital, though neither would be happy. "And put a BOLO through for me. Andres Marcoles. NCIS has the rest of the information. Last seen leaving this location, destination unknown."

"I'll get that through, Agent McGee," the operator said, and McGee could hear a keyboard clicking. "Would you like to stay on the line?"

"No," McGee decided in an instant. "Have the rescue teams go the loading dock."

He hung up the phone.

"You got through," Tony breathed, looking relieved for the first time since they'd been shot at. "They're coming."

"Yeah," McGee said, focusing his attention on the door. "We need to get out of here, Tony."

"They're coming," Tony said, unfazed. "Can't we just wait?"

McGee stopped what he was doing and stared at Tony. "The building is on fire," he said slowly, pointing to the roaring flames that were making their way towards them. "Gibbs and Ziva are both unconscious."

Tony looked at their teammates. Gibbs had, indeed, slipped into unconsciousness, and Ziva was beginning to breathe in short gasps. She still hadn't come to.

"Right," Tony said. "How do we get out?"

McGee looked at their surroundings. An idea began to form in his head.

"Get that and that," he said to Tony, pointing around the small reception area they were standing in. "And give me your cell phone."

--

"…you should have seen it," Tony said excitedly, waving his arms around his head. "It was so _cool_."

Ziva was lying in the hospital bed, eyes finally open. Gibbs was in the bed across the room, also conscious again.

McGee, however, was tiring of the story. "It wasn't 'so cool,' Tony," he informed the older man. "It _was_ all I could think to do, though. We had to get out of there."

"It was cool," Tony assured the other two. "He blew up the door with a desk lamp, a filing cabinet, and my cell phone."

"You are like that television character," Ziva said to McGee. "The one who escapes from dangerous situations using whatever he can find. In one episode I think he used a sock and a paper clip."

"MacGyver!" Tony's eyes lit up. "Oh, that's too perfect. Why did I not think of that?"

McGee's cell phone, sitting on Ziva's bedside table, began to ring. He could see that it was Abby calling again, but before he could reach for the device, Tony was answering it.

"MacGyver's phone," he said sweetly. "He's not available at the moment. Can I take a message?" Tony's smile faltered and a slightly horrified expression crept across his face as Abby spoke into the other line. "O…kay, I'll let him know," he said finally, flipping the phone shut.

"Not funny," McGee griped, snatching his phone back. "What did she say?"

"She said to let MacGyver know that if he ever wanted to prove his skills at escaping, that she's got a nice pair of handcuffs with his name on them." He shrugged. "I think she knew it was really your phone, though, so I'm not sure how creeped out I should be right now."

"Very," Gibbs advised as McGee turned pink. "Be very, very disturbed."

* * *

You guys have really given me some awesome names to work with! I can't promise I'll be able to write all of them, but I'll try my hardest to write at least one from each person who submits. Keep them coming!


	11. McMuffin

Thanks to Maybe-I-Should-Write-Something for this one!

* * *

Tony was late.

It wasn't his fault, though, not really. Not this time, not entirely, and he hoped that Gibbs would buy it. The items he carried would, hopefully, help with that.

The elevator doors opened and Tony rushed through them, walking at a speed that was just below running as he entered the bullpen.

"Good morning," he singsonged, throwing Ziva what he felt was his most charming smile. "How are we all doing this fine spring day?"

"Are you okay?" McGee asked from his desk, looking at Tony warily. "Did you have a good weekend, or did someone slip something into your juice this morning?"

"Can't I just be in a good mood?" Tony asked. He waved the bag he carried in the younger agent's direction. "I brought breakfast!"

"What did you get?" Ziva asked, rising from her seat and walking towards the food. Tony pulled several things from the bag and set them on his desk.

"A few things for Abs and Ducky and the gremlin," he began, gesturing to some a death-by-chocolate donut, two bagels, and a container of cream cheese. He pulled another item from the bag and handed it to Ziva with a flourish. "Chocolate donut, glazed, with sprinkles, for the lady. Also, juice."

Ziva smiled happily at her morning treat. She usually had a piece of fruit for breakfast, but Tony knew that this was her secret indulgence. She took the first bite and chewed happily as Tony continued.

"Got myself a jelly donut and a coffee," he said, setting those items aside. His hand dove into a second bag that he had brought. He flipped the next thing he withdrew at McGee. "Look sharp there, McMuffin. Breakfast delivery!"

McGee barely caught the food bullet thrown at his face. He opened his hands to find a toasted corn muffin. He set it down just in time to catch the apple juice that followed.

"Where's the boss-man?" Tony asked, holding a plain bagel in his hands. "I got food for him, too."

"You're late, DiNozzo," Gibbs said, sweeping into the bullpen and snatching the bagel from Tony's grasp. He took a bite of the bagel, swallowed, and frowned. "And since you didn't bring me coffee to go with this, you're not forgiven."

Tony produced a familiar paper cup from his desk and offered it to Gibbs, who took it, gave it a sniff, and then sipped it.

Finally, he spoke. "Okay. But don't do it again."


	12. McPotter

I feel we've all been in Tony's shoes before. Thanks to blood-stained-rag-doll for the name!

* * *

"No, no, no, don't do that…"

McGee turned and watched as Tony frantically jammed at his keyboard and pleaded with his computer. "Oh, no, no, that's not good. Please stop. Please let me see that file."

"Computer issues?" McGee deadpanned.

Ziva stood and walked to Tony's desk, peering at the monitor. "Oh, yes, McGee. I have not seen anything like this before."

"Steve hates me," Tony announced glumly, sitting back in his chair.

"Steve?" McGee finally rose and approached the other two. "Who is Steve, and why is he relevant to your computer issues?"

"Steve _is_ my computer," Tony replied. "And he hates me."

"You named your _computer_?" Ziva asked, taking a step away from Tony and staring at him.

"You named your computer _Steve_?" McGee clarified. "Maybe that's why it hates you."

"There's nothing wrong with the name Steve," Tony said, sounding offended. "Tons of great people are named Steve. It's a rich, storied name, with plenty of-"

"Wow," McGee interrupted, finally getting a look at Tony's monitor. Several windows were flashing on the screen, popping up for a second or two, only to be replaced by another window almost immediately. "That's pretty special. What did you do?"

"Nothing," Tony moaned, sounding completely convinced of his innocence. "I had a bunch of things open, and then I clicked on a link from an email and this just… happened."

"A link?" McGee said, shoving Tony out of the way. The older man stood, and McGee sat in his chair, studying the computer. "Who was the email from?"

"An old college buddy," Tony replied. "Said he found a site that lets you download… well… yeah, it was from a guy I knew forever ago. Kinda weird, actually, that he'd send me something. We haven't talked in ages."

"Tony," McGee said slowly, turning to look at him. "You clicked a link that promised you free porn? At work?"

"No!" Tony insisted. "Anyway, why would Alec have sent me some weird computer glitch thingy? We weren't best friends or anything, but we got along okay." Tony's face shifted suddenly. "Well, except for that month or two where I dated his ex-girlfriend…"

"Classy," McGee muttered, turning back to the problem at hand. With a few quick taps on the keyboard, he returned the windows to their regular, non-flashing state.

"You saved Steve," Tony breathed. "You saved his life. You're like some sort of computer wizard. You're… McPotter."

McGee rolled his eyes. "Sure, Tony."

"Steve and I will never forget this," Tony promised. "Thanks, McGee."

McGee opened Tony's email program, found an email from Alec Marcer, and pointed to the screen.

"It says right there that it's 'too good to be true'," McGee said, tracing a line with his fingertip. "Take that advice, Tony. You downloaded a virus."

"Oh," Tony said, ducking his head.

"Yeah," McGee confirmed. "And not only did you get the virus, you sent this email to everyone in your address book."

Tony looked horrified. "I did not!"

"The virus did, though," McGee continued. "So you're going to want to send an email to everyone in your contacts and tell them that they shouldn't open the link."

"Everyone?" Tony asked morosely. "I have a ton of people in there." His face turned horrified. "Oh no. Did that link send itself to my Aunt Marcia? Because that would just so not be good…"

"I'd bet yes," McGee said, standing and returning to his own desk. "Send the email, Tony."

Ziva was still standing behind Tony's desk. "Wait a minute," she said, peering at the words in the email. "This is not a link for pornography. It is a site with-"

"Say it and die," Tony growled, shoving her away from the screen. "Don't ever bring it up again, do you hear me?"

Ziva smiled slowly. "Oh, Tony, I will not tell anyone… right now. But I will remember this information."

Tony dropped his head in his hands and groaned.

* * *

You can draw your own conclusions as to what the email really contained. Personally, I think it was a link for free chocolate chip cookie recipies, revealing to the world Tony's secret love for baking.

Also, my computer at work is named Steve. It's helpful to name your machinery; that way you have something to yell when your computer crashes or loses a file or something like that. Trust me. (The IT people think I'm insane.)


	13. McNascar

Thanks to riley14smoke14 for the name!

* * *

"Will you please stop and ask for directions?"

"We're not lost," McGee informed his impatient passenger. "I know how to get there, Ziva."

"Clearly you do not. If you knew how to get there, we would already be there, yes?"

"Lady has a point, McNascar," Tony piped up from the back seat. "We've been going in circles for half an hour."

"It should be right here," McGee said, frustrated. "It was definitely right here last time I was here."

"Oh, so they just decided to move the entire building?" Ziva asked sarcastically. "Face the facts, McGee. You got us lost."

"No," McGee protested weakly, but knew that he was losing the argument.

"Pull into that gas station," Tony said, pointing. "I'll get out and ask where it is."

"I cannot believe that Tony is being the bigger man here," Ziva muttered as McGee pulled into the indicated driveway. "Something about this is very strange."

"Thanks a lot, Ziva," Tony said as he climbed from the back seat. "Good to know you have so much faith in me."

Tony disappeared into the store and the occupants of the car fell into silence. Ziva was studying a map; McGee was trying his best to remember the exact location of their destination. 13342 Del Rosa Boulevard. He knew the address was right. It was written on the brochure he'd picked up last time he was in there. They were on the right street, they were in the right block, but number 13342 was a Laundromat.

McGee picked the brochure out of the console and studied the address again. 13342 Del Rosa Boulevard…

Oh.

Tony got back into the car as McGee stuffed the brochure back into the console. "The guy in there has never heard of the place," he informed the two in the front seat. "Hasn't even heard of anything that sounds like it, rhymes, might be the same if you switched a couple of the letters around, nothing."

"I know where it is," McGee repeated, staring out the windshield and beginning to pull out of the driveway. He turned right, away from where they'd been circling, and began to head in the opposite direction.

"You had the wrong street number, didn't you?" Tony said smugly from the back seat.

"Nope."

"Wrong street?" Ziva guessed.

"No, I had the right street."

"Then where are we going?" Tony asked, exasperated. "This is the worst lunch I've ever had, Probie. The very worst lunch of all time. It's even worse than that one with my father when I was fifteen." Tony shuddered. "Well, maybe this is the second worst lunch of all time."

"We'll be there soon," McGee said, still staring straight ahead.

"I vote that we stop at the next pizza shop we see."

"I second this vote," Ziva said immediately. "We do not have the rest of the day to spend searching for your restaurant, McGee. Find it tonight and we will go there tomorrow."

"We'll be there soon," McGee said again.

Tony rolled his eyes. "We're going to die of starvation in this car," he said dramatically. "We're not gonna make it out alive!"

McGee stopped the car and turned around to the back seat. Tony raised his eyebrows. "If you tell me to shut it or you're gonna come back here, I will mutiny."

McGee raised a finger and pointed out the window. "Look what I found."

The restaurant sat, exactly where McGee described, between a pharmacy and a shoe store. Tony got out of the car, inspected the street sign, then the number over the door. 13342 Del Rosa. He turned, confused, to McGee and Ziva, who were stepping from the car.

"I don't get it," he said.

McGee rolled his eyes. "Right street, right number, what's to get?"

"Different town," Ziva spoke up, reading from the pamphlet McGee had shoved back into the console. "It appears that Del Rosa Boulevard runs through several towns around here. There is a 13342 in three of them." She flipped the attached map around so Tony could see it.

"We had directions with us the whole time?" Tony spluttered. "Seriously, man, all you had to do was look at a little piece of paper the entire time you were driving in circles? We could have been here an hour ago!"

"Twenty minutes ago, maybe," McGee conceded, taking the paper and putting it in his pocket. "But we're here now, so let's eat."

"Food!" Tony cried, heading quickly for the door.

"So easily distracted," Ziva muttered, following him.

McGee just smiled, thinking of the eggplant parmesan he was about to enjoy.

* * *

I've totally done this. How about you?


	14. McTrouble

The idea for this one struck me and I had to write it right away. Thanks to lovencis10468 for the suggestion!

* * *

Fornell stormed into the bullpen, coat flapping behind him, the ever-present scowl on his face. "Where is he?"

Tony feigned innocence. "Well, I'm a he, and I'm right here. Um, Vance is a he. I think he's in MTAC. Phil in Accounting, well, I think he's a he, although I don't have confirmation on that theory…"

"Not in the mood," Fornell growled.

"Shocking," Tony muttered under his breath. "Gibbs is in the lab. I'll give them a call and-"

Fornell threw his hands in the air. "Not him, the other one! That one!" He pointed to McGee's empty desk. "Does nobody around here bother to check their email?"

Tony snapped his jaw shut. "McGee? What could you possibly want with McGee?" He quickly opened his email program and checked. Nothing from Fornell. "And, um, there is no email."

"Sure there is," the FBI agent growled. "Sent it myself."

"When?' Tony asked doubtfully, then blinked as his computer beeped softly. An email from Fornell, T. C., had appeared in his inbox.

"Three minutes ago," Fornell said. "I need to talk to Agent McGee. Where is he?"

"Men's room," Ziva said, standing. "I will get him."

Fornell stared at her. "How?"

"How what?" Ziva asked, confused, as she halted in mid-stride.

"He's in the _men's_ room, Officer David," Fornell said, as if that should have been obvious. "You're lacking certain criteria to get him out of there."

"Hasn't stopped her before," Tony informed the older man. "I think she actually prefers it in the men's room to the women's room."

"I would not know which I prefer," Ziva said, making her way towards the room in question. "I have never used the women's room."

Fornell blinked. What kind of organization was Gibbs running over here? He then shook his head and called out.

"I'll meet him in there, Officer David." The warning note in his voice made Ziva stop herself from opening the door and warning her friend of what was coming.

Fornell brushed past Ziva, opened the door, and stepped in. Ziva heard the bolt slide shut.

"Wonder what McTrouble did," Tony mused. "Must be pretty bad to bring the FBI in on it."

"Maybe they caught him hacking into their system," Ziva suggested.

"Maybe," Tony shrugged. "I mean, every time they come here looking for me, someone is dead and my fingerprints have mysteriously appeared there."

"Or your bite marks."

"Or DNA," Tony agreed. "We should get Gibbs. This can't be good."

In the bathroom, McGee turned from the sink when he heard the door lock. "Ziva, I told you, I wasn't the one who-" He froze as Fornell stood, silent, with his back to the door.

"A-agent Fornell," he stuttered. "Can I, uh, help you with something?"

"I have some questions for you," Fornell said, arms crossed over his chest. He had a small object clutched in his right hand.

"Um, sure," McGee said, trying to remain calm. What had he done? Or, he corrected himself mentally, what had he been _caught_ doing? "Should I get a lawyer?"

Fornell blinked in surprise, then relaxed his posture. "What? Oh, no, Agent McGee. Not those kinds of questions."

"O..kay.." McGee said cautiously. What could this possibly be about?

Fornell walked towards the young agent, holding out the object in his palm. McGee recognized it as the new Blackberry model that had recently been released. He couldn't stop the low whistle from escaping his lips as he gazed at the device.

"I got this new phone," Fornell began, "and they transferred all my numbers and notes and whatever from the last one, and I can't find where they put anything…"

Twenty minutes later, as McGee and Fornell exited the bathroom, they found the rest of the team, including the Director and the Autopsy staff, standing in the bullpen.

"Need to talk to any of us, Agent Fornell?" Vance asked coolly, not sounding amused. "Whatever mission you're on, your agency knows nothing about it. They're pretty curious to know what's going on here too."

"All taken care of," Fornell said, walking to the elevator. The phone clipped at his belt chirped, and Fornell held it up to his face, scrutinizing the screen. He glanced back to McGee, who was still standing behind the rest of the team. The younger man mimed pressing a button in the middle of the screen. Fornell copied the movement and barked into the receiver as he stepped onto the elevator.

"What was that all about?" Vance asked as the doors closed, turning to McGee.

McGee just shrugged. "Don't worry, Director," he said. "I think I resolved the matter on my own."


	15. McCyclopedia

Here's another suggested by master0gre65.

* * *

"I told you, Tony, I don't know."

"And I told _you_ that I don't believe you. You know everything."

McGee sighed. "Flattering, Tony, but no, I don't know everything, and I sure don't know the answer to your question."

Tony kept pressing. "Yeah, you have an answer for everything, McCyclopedia. Remember that case with the chickens in the sack? You knew what was going on. Way back when, remember, we had that case where Ziva had to dress up like a hot nerd chick to go to that nerd dating convention? You knew all about that one…"

Tony's voice faded as he frowned. He'd meant that to be complimentary, but he was pretty sure he'd screwed it up somehow. The look on McGee's face was confirming that suspicion.

"Gee, thanks, Tony," the younger man said sarcastically. "I know everything there is to know about weird, nerdy stuff." He paused and brightened. "Well, go ahead, think that if you want. This has nothing to do with anything remotely weird _or _nerdy."

"You do know!" Tony exclaimed triumphantly. "I knew it. Come on, Probie, spill it."

McGee realized too late that he had given himself away and cursed internally. He was so much worse at flat-out refusal than at pretending he didn't know the answer.

"I'm not telling you anything," McGee tried, staring resolutely at his computer.

"Yes, you are," Tony singsonged. "You know you want to."

"Whatever it is, DiNozzo, I'm almost positive he knows he doesn't want to," Gibbs remarked as he strode into the bullpen.

Tony shot off of McGee's desk. "Boss! I was just asking McGee if he wanted to tell me the results from the Mayara case!"

"I'm also almost positive you're lying to me now," Gibbs replied, giving Tony a look that said _I'm absolutely positive that's the truth._

McGee jumped in. "Actually, boss, I found a few things while I was going through Theresa Mayara's cell phone records and bank statements…"

The next few minutes were filled with technical explanations, diagrams, and an angry Gibbs. As soon as McGee had finished with his findings, their boss was striding through the bullpen without a word, off to pick up the woman who had been lying to him from the start of their investigation.

"Thanks, Probie," Tony said after the elevator had shut. "That was close. I owe you one." His pause was infinitesimal. "So, you gonna tell me?"

"No, Tony, I'm not. Consider that the one you owe me. Stop asking."

"Asking what?" Ziva questioned, stepping into the bullpen. Tony's eyes widened and he again shot from McGee's desk.

"Nothing," he said with a flourish, smiling a dazzling smile and sidling back to his own seat. Ziva turned her gaze to McGee, who shook his head.

"You don't really want to know, Ziva." Ziva matched the shrug with one of her own and sat at her desk.

A minute later, McGee opened his email program to find a message from Tony.

_Okay, Probie, now you _have_ to tell me. What and where is her tattoo??_

_

* * *

_Wow, I had no idea people would like Fornell so much in the last chapter! I'll have to include him again, if that's the kind of awesome response I get :)


	16. McGrabby

Thanks to Zara for the name!

* * *

The sounds of a struggle echoed down the hallway outside of the forensics lab.

"Get off me!" Abby screeched, and the words made Tony's blood run cold. Visions of her evil assistant, Chip, flashed through his head, and he drew his SIG as he went quickly and quietly to the door.

He peered in and saw Abby bent forward, her hands around someone that Tony couldn't see.

"Back off!" he bellowed as loudly as he could. "Let her go and back away with your hands in the air!" Tony kept his gun trained on the back of whoever was accosting Abby. The person wasn't moving away from her. In fact, whoever it was wasn't moving at all.

"I'm warning you," Tony threatened, walking steadily towards Abby, who looked like she was trying not to smile. Smile? Why would she smile if she was in some sort of danger?

Oh.

McGee was sprawled across Abby's lap, his hands firmly on the side of the desk. Abby's own hands were wrapped around his torso. Abby looked amused; from what Tony could see of his face, McGee looked slightly horrified.

"Don't shoot me, Tony," he said. "I swear, I'd move away from her if I could."

"She's not magnetic, McGrabby," Tony said, holstering his gun. "I think this is at least a yellow-light situation. Probably an orange-light. If that's even a thing."

"Somewhere between yellow and red," Abby said approvingly. "It works." Her hands hadn't moved from around McGee.

A horrible though suddenly occurred to Tony. "I'm not… interrupting… something, am I?"

"No," they both said at once, but offered no further explanation.

"Okay," Tony said, wondering if he actually wanted the details they weren't offering. His mouth opened and the words fell out before his brain had fully processed that he might be better off not knowing. "What are you doing?"

"Well," McGee said, attempting to shrug (which was, Tony thought, hilarious to behold), "I'm glued to the desk."

"Glued," Tony echoed. "To the desk."

"And I'm glued to McGee," Abby finished.

"Glued to McGee." Tony couldn't stop repeating the words he heard. "If I ask – and I'm not saying I'm going to – but if I ask how this happened, am I going to want to know the answer?"

"Abby had this lotion," McGee began.

"A simple 'no' would've been fine, McGee," Tony said, shuddering. God. Lotion.

Abby laughed. "Get your mind out of the gutter, Tony,. McGee used some on his hands, and it reacted with one of the chemicals when we tried to run a test. It got all over his hands and the table."

"I jumped back so it wouldn't get all over me," McGee jumped in. Tony found it a little hard to hear him; the younger agent's face was pointed towards the floor. "I tripped and, without thinking, put my hands out to catch myself."

"I tried to stop him from hitting the floor," Abby continued. "The stuff was already all over his shirt, though."

"So you're stuck like this?"

"It appears so," McGee said.

"He's crushing my legs," Abby interjected. "They're starting to go numb."

"I can't get off your lap, Abby," McGee reminded her. "We're glued here."

"Good point," Abby realized. Then, "We're going to have to lose some clothing to fix this, aren't we?"

There was a moment of silence. "Probably."

"Can you-" There were shuffling sounds as the two tried to maneuver themselves into a position that would let them free themselves.

"No," McGee replied a minute later. "I can't."

"We're going to need some help," Abby said thoughtfully, then brightened. "Tony!"

But Tony had gone upstairs, realizing that Ziva would be pretty angry if she missed this. It was, after all, pretty funny.

"We're on our own," Abby sighed.

"Yeah," McGee agreed, and they sat there, awkwardly, for a few moments. Until…

"Okay," Abby said. "This just became a priority. We have to get un-stuck. Now."

"What's the rush?" McGee asked warily.

Abby squirmed. "I really have to pee!"


	17. McPicky

Thanks to amdelodder for a huge list of names, including this one!

* * *

"No, that's not right," McGee said frantically, turning a metal picture frame a millimeter to the right. "Oh. That's not right, either." He turned it back to how it had been, stepped to one side, and judged it again.

"It's going to have to do," he muttered darkly, then moved on to the next item in his box. "It's going to have to be close enough."

McGee pulled out another picture frame. This one was wooden and contained a picture of himself and Abby working busily in her lab on some case or another. They were both engrossed in their work, and neither had noticed when Tony snapped the picture.

McGee smiled faintly as he placed the picture on the desk in front of him. Again, the frown appeared on his face, and he turned it this way and that, finally pulling it a nearly unnoticeable amount to the left and deciding that it, too, would have to be good enough.

"Okay, McPicky, I have to ask. Number one, what are you doing, and number two, why do you have all of Abby's things in a box?"

"Don't tell her," McGee said, panicked. "God, Tony, don't say anything."

"We will be quiet," Ziva said, stepping out from behind Tony. "If you tell us what you are doing, that is."

Well," McGee gulped. "I was trying to catch up on some of the paperwork that she missed while she was on vacation. To be nice, you know, so she didn't come back to a whole stack of it."

"No paperwork involved in this," Tony said, picking up a small tray filled with sand and a tiny rake. "Zen garden?"

"Yes," McGee replied, taking it from him and returning it to its proper place – or as near to it as he could manage. "Anyway, I was down here working, and I went to get a Caf-Pow because, well, I figured that if they were such a great help to Abby, maybe they'd help me get through the mountain of paperwork."

Ziva made a face. "McGee, those drinks taste awful."

"I figured that out," he griped, sweeping his hand across the desk. "I took a really big sip and swallowed it without thinking. Turns out, not only do they taste awful, they don't agree with my stomach."

Tony's eyes were wider than McGee could ever recall them being before. "You threw up? On Abby's desk?"

"Yes and no," McGee said. "I made it to the bathroom first. I didn't notice it at the time, but when I left, I knocked over that huge cup…"

Ziva grimaced. "It went everywhere, yes?" she asked, understanding.

"It missed most of the paperwork, though I'm going to have to reprint everything from the Matheson case," he sighed. "But it spilled all over the pictures and stuff."

"What spilled on my pictures?" came an anxious voice from behind them. The three team members spun around to see Abby standing in the doorway.

"Uh, the thing is…" Tony began, "It was all McGee's fault." He walked quickly from the room, tugging Ziva along with him.

McGee stared longingly after them, wanting to run away from this situation. He took a deep breath and turned to Abby. "It kinda was all my fault," he said unwillingly.

"What happened?" Abby asked, rummaging through the box that contained her things.

"Well, I was working on the mountain of paperwork, and I got tired," he explained, motioning to the still-impressive pile of papers. "And I got a Caf-Pow to keep me awake. And I got sick. And I spilled it."

"You got _sick_?" Abby questioned, concerned now for her friend instead of her pictures. "Oh, McGee, are you okay?" She stopped then, making the same connection that Tony had. "Did you spew all over my stuff?"

"No," McGee repeated. "I spilled Caf-Pow all over it when I ran to the bathroom."

"Oh," Abby replied, visibly relaxing. "That's fine, McGee. I've spilled more Caf-Pow in here than I really want to remember."

"You're not mad?" McGee asked, amazed.

"Let me ask you something, McGee," Abby said, turning to him, face serious. "Did you kill any kittens today?"

Silence. Then, "What?"

"Did you kill any kittens today?" she repeated with emphasis.

"Um… no," he replied cautiously.

Abby smiled. "Then all is right with the world," she proclaimed, digging through the box again. "Hey, I don't even remember this picture."

"That's from that picnic we had last year," McGee reminded her, taking it from her hands and pointing to various details, explaining the day's events. Abby smiled and played along, happy to be back to her lab and to her friends.

And really, really happy that McGee hadn't spewed all over her desk.

* * *

The entire kitten thing actually happened to a friend of mine. He told a professor that he hadn't done his homework, and that conversation ensued.


	18. McDonald

This one is courtesy of my mother, lynext, who gave me a list of names and an admonishment to finish my other story, Always Searching, post-haste.

* * *

The smell was unmistakable. And strong.

Ziva wrinkled her nose. "That is a _very_ unpleasant odor."

"Agreed," Tony said, trying to decide if breathing through his mouth would be better, or if inhaling the fumes over his taste buds would make him actually vomit.

"It's not _that_ bad, you guys," McGee informed them, grabbing a camera from the back of the van. "I've seen both of you dig through dumpsters and landfills, but the first time we set foot on a farm, you're ready to pass out?"

Tony looked disgusted as he decided to breathe through his mouth, covered by his sleeve. He took a deep breath and felt a little better. "McGee, this is like the farm from my nightmares. If Hell were a farm, it would be this one."

"I have been on farm before, McGee," Ziva said, pulling tweezers and evidence bags from the van and heading towards the crime scene. "None of them smelled quite like this one."

"I think that's because all of the animals there were probably alive," Tony pointed out, trying to use one hand to gather what he needed and follow the other two. He gave up after a moment, took a final deep breath through his sleeve, and grabbed what he needed before speeding after his colleagues. "These ones are all dead."

It was true. All of the livestock had died mysteriously, as had their owner, a high-ranking Naval official. There appeared to be no foul play, but the circumstances dictated that the deaths of both man and beasts be investigated. It wasn't every day that you found a very important man dead, surrounded by over five hundred cows in a similar state.

McGee began to snap pictures, apparently unaffected by his surroundings. "Really, guys, it's not so bad."

Tony stared at him in disbelief. "I've seen you toss your guts up after taking a look at a dead guy with a little blood," he said. "How does this not bother you?"

McGee shrugged. "It bothers me, I guess. Just not as much as it apparently bothers you. It reminds me of my grandparents, honestly."

"The dead animals or the dead officer?" Ziva inquired, frowning and cocking her head.

McGee rolled his eyes. "The farm, Ziva. My mom's folks had a farm in West Virginia. I spent a few summers there when I was a kid." He snapped a few more pictures of the body. "I loved helping Grandpa milk the cows in the morning."

"So you're like Old McDonald, had a farm, E-I-E-I-O?" Tony asked, glee apparent in his voice.

McGee shrugged again. "I'm more like Young McDonald, actually. Old McDonald would be my grandfather."

Tony smiled manically. His day had just increased drastically. He began to sing under his breath as he sketched the crime scene.

"And on that farm was Tiny Tim, E-I-E-I-O…"

* * *

For anyone who might be confused at this point: "Old McDonald" is a children's song popular in some parts of the United Staes. The singer describes the farmer, Old McDonald, and all of the things he has on his farm. I'm not sure what the whole "E-I-E-I-O" bit is about, honestly.


	19. McSnugglebug

Suggested by my beta :)

* * *

McGee kept his eyes firmly closed, though he could clearly hear his teammates entering his apartment. It was a Saturday. He didn't have to be up. What was more, it was his birthday, so he felt entirely justified in closing his eyes even more tightly and burrowing into his pillows.

"Shh!" came Ziva's sharp whisper. "Do not wake him up!"

"I'm trying not to," Tony said back, just as quietly. McGee could hear plastic rusting. Bags from the grocery store? "These things are really noisy."

"I was talking about how you are walking," she hissed. "You walk like an elemant."

"Elephant," Tony asked, amused. "Do not."

McGee heard a slight scuffle, then, "Ow!" as Ziva apparently won the battle. McGee snorted.

All sound from the other room ceased. "Did we wake him?" Ziva asked after a moment.

"Probably just snoring," Tony said, voice again low. "Let's get this done, okay?"

"Okay," Ziva said. "Give me that bag and that bag. You take those and – no, Tony, give me that one. You take this one in the other room and – Tony!" Ziva's voice rose in exasperation. McGee tried to pass a laugh off as a cough, and thought he was pretty successful as they froze again.

"Okay, I'm going," Tony said after another moment of silence. "In there, right?"

"Yes," Ziva answered. "I will start in here and then I will come in and help you."

McGee was glad he had his eyes closed a minute later when he heard his bedroom door slowly open. He was facing away from the door, but he could tell the moment Tony entered.

"Good thing you sleep like the dead, Probie," the older agent muttered. "Ziva would kill me if I woke you up. Actually kill me. With the knife."

It took a Herculean effort for McGee not to smile. He thought as hard as he could of the finer aspects of particle theory to take his mind off of Tony's mutterings as he moved about the small room.

A delicious aroma filled the room a few moments later. Tony seemed to notice it, too; he stopped and took a deep breath. "Oh, I am so glad we decided to do this," he breathed, an appreciative note in his voice. "Her cooking is just incredible."

"Thank you," Ziva said, and McGee jumped a little. The duo appeared not to notice, however, as they worked silently to complete whatever task they had set before themselves.

"Okay," Ziva finally said. "I am going to finish the food. Give me two minutes, then wake him up." Tony smothered a chuckle, and she rolled her eyes. "_Nicely_."

"Yes, mom," Tony said as she left the room. "Hey, why do I have to wake him up? You can get Grumpy Bear out of the cave. I can take stuff out of an oven, too." His voice trailed hopefully after Ziva as she walked out of the bedroom.

"You wake him, Tony," Ziva said.

"But why?" he asked again, a little pathetically.

"In case he sleeps naked," Ziva said matter-of-factly.

Tony stood, mute in his horror. "Oh, God, that's an image I did not need. Oh. Bad."

McGee shifted in his bed and threw and arm out from under the covers, revealing a sleeve on his arm that led down to the collar of a T-shirt. Tony breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thank God," he muttered.

McGee wondered how long two minutes could possibly take as he laid in his bed, trying to remain in the same position without being creeped out by the fact that Tony was apparently watching him sleep.

"Aw, look at McSnugglebug," Tony finally said, very loudly. McGee jumped in his bed, pretending to be shocked out of sleep.

"Tony?" he asked. "What are you doing here?"

He blinked then as he looked around his small room. Streamers were hung from every imaginable surface, from floor to ceiling. There were four colors – dark red, gray, yellow, and black. The school colors of MIT and Johns Hopkins, McGee realized, touched. A large, colorful banner hung over the dresser. He swung his head around to the door, where Tony still stood, a huge grin on his face.

"Happy birthday," Tony said, still smiling. "Come on, Ziva made breakfast." He stopped, one foot out the door, and looked cautiously back into the room as McGee threw the covers off. "Um, make sure you're dressed."

"I wear pajamas, Tony," McGee replied.

"That's a good idea," Tony said, somewhat unwillingly. "Come on."

Ziva was placing a few serving dishes on the table. "Good morning, McGee," she said brightly, taking the cover off of the first dish with a flourish. "We made you birthday pancakes!"

Pancakes with fruit in them stared up at him. There were pancakes with bananas, with raspberries, with blackberries, with what looked like apple slices… McGee looked up as she unveiled the other platters and saw scrambled eggs and sausage.

"You made sausage, too?" he asked, dumbfounded. "That's not even kosher."

"Turkey sausage," she said, covering Tony's ears as she said it. "Please do not tell him. He cannot taste the difference." McGee smiled back.

"Wow," he said as they ate. "Thanks, guys. This is a great way to wake up on your birthday."

"I am just glad that Tony and his elephant feet did not wake you up," Ziva said sweetly. Tony tried to poke her with his fork, but stopped when he saw the glare in her eyes. McGee smiled again.

"Yeah, I slept right through it."

"Hey," Tony said, changing the subject. "Why didn't you do this for my birthday?" Tony had turned one year older a few months earlier; they had taken him out to lunch.

"Simple," Ziva said, bringing a forkful of the fluffy eggs to her mouth. "You do not wear pajamas."

* * *

Next chapter will be number 20... I definitely didn't think this story would be well-liked enough to write twenty chapters, but hey, I'm glad you guys like reading them! I love writing them, too :)


	20. McPhobia

This one is courtesy of cflat. Also, I'm extra-disclaiming this one. I'm a teacher, not a psychologist, so this is probably all bad mojo. Don't try it at home!

* * *

"Come on, Timmy," Abby coaxed. "Everything is fine. You're calm, you're totally in control, you're absolutely able to do this."

"No," McGee whimpered, his voice unusually high-pitched. "I can't do it!" His voice ended on a squeak, terror clearly evident in his tone.

"Tim," Abby said calmly. "I'm right next to you. Hold my hand and we'll do it together."

"Okay," McGee said uncertainly.

"Take a deep breath," Abby began.

"What's going on in here?" Tony asked, walking into the lab. There were lit candles everywhere, and some very un-Abby-like soft music was playing in the background. McGee was sitting in a chair, a terrified look on his face, with his eyes closed. Abby was sitting in a chair of her own, facing him. She spun at the sound of Tony's voice. She waved frantically and signaled for him to stay quiet.

"Who's there?" McGee's voice called out, slightly panicky.

"He's a friend, Tim," Abby said soothingly. "He's standing on your other side. Hold his hand, too. We'll all do this together.

"Okay," McGee repeated, a little more confidently.

Tony looked bewildered. He turned again to Abby and opened his mouth, but shut it and sat down when he saw the glare she was giving him.

"One step," she said encouragingly to McGee. "Come on, Tim, one step."

"We're so high up," he mumbled, shifting.

"We're all holding hands," she reminded him. "Don't worry. We've got you."

"Did you take a step?" Abby asked, and McGee finally nodded. "Great! Look around you. What do you see?"

"Um.." McGee's brow creased in thought. Tony took the opportunity to lean over and whisper to Abby.

"Helping McGee with his fear of heights?"

"Trying to," Abby whispered back as McGee answered.

"The ground is really far away," he said hesitantly, but not as fearfully. "But we're holding hands and I don't feel like I'm going to fall."

"You're not going to fall," Tony said as soothingly as he could manage. Abby shot him a look and he shrugged. He could help, too, as long as he was here.

"Tony?" McGee asked hesitantly.

"I've got your other hand there, buddy," Tony assured McGee.

"You won't let me fall?"

"Have I ever?" Tony countered.

"Let's keep going," Abby said. "We'll all walk right to the edge."

"The edge?" McGee said. The panic was back. "But…"

"We've got you," Tony replied.

"Okay," McGee said.

"Are we there?" Abby asked a moment later.

"Yeah," McGee said fearfully. "We're really, really high up. I didn't know we were this high. Let's back up. It's not safe."

"It's safe," Abby reminded him. "You're holding my hand and you're holding Tony's hand. Look over the edge, Tim."

"No!" he practically shouted. "I'll fall over!"

"We've got you," Tony said. An idea occurred to him. "I have a rope, McGee. I'm anchoring one end on the building and putting the other in a harness. You're wearing the harness. Do you see it?"

McGee turned his face down, as if looking through his closed eyes at his torso. "I see it."

"Good," Tony said. "You're anchored to the building, and we're still all holding on to you. There's no way you can fall."

"Okay," McGee said.

"Look over the edge," Abby encouraged. "What do you see?"

"The cars look like ants," McGee said slowly. "There are people down there, too, and they're so tiny. I can see my car parked at the curb."

"What else?" Tony continued.

McGee frowned. "I can see really far away," he said, sounding slightly surprised. "For miles, I think. The buildings look differently from up here."

"Good," Abby approved. "Let's step back now, okay?"

"Okay," McGee readily agreed.

"I'm going to count to three," Abby instructed. "When I get to three, you're going to open your eyes. One, two… three."

McGee's eyes opened. He blinked as he looked around. "Tony?" he asked warily. "What are you doing here?"

"He came in-"

"-right near the end there, McPhobia," Tony interjected, glancing at Abby. _Don't tell him._

Abby frowned a tiny bit. Fine. If that's how he wanted to play it…

"So how do you feel?" she asked McGee.

"Okay," he said slowly, evaluating. "I mean, I don't want to go live on a roof, but… I think it's better."

"Good," Tony said, clapping him on the back. "Want to go test it out?" He turned to Abby. "That's why I came down here. Dead Marine hanging half off a rooftop on base."

"Nice," Abby said, making a face. McGee looked slightly green.

"How high?" he asked, uncertainly.

"Couple floors," Tony replied, grabbing McGee by the elbow and pulling him from the room. "Not too bad."

Abby shouted as the two left the lab. "I'm holding your hand from here!"


	21. McTragic

This one is thanks to amdelodder.

* * *

"Why did you do it?" Ziva spat, throwing a sheaf of papers at McGee.

"What?" McGee looked up just in time to be hit in the face with the pages. "Ziva, ow!"

"Why?" Ziva hissed, and McGee found himself backing rapidly away from the woman. "Why would you do it?"

"What did I do?" McGee asked, panicked, realizing that he was now stuck between the cubicle partition and an angry Mossad officer. The distance was shrinking far too rapidly for McGee's taste, especially since he had no idea what she was talking about.

"This," Ziva said, plucking a few of the pages from McGee's desk and throwing them again at McGee, who flinched though the papers drifted harmlessly to the floor.

"Is that…" McGee grabbed for the paper and read a few lines. "Ziva! How did you get this?"

"That is not _important_," Ziva replied. "What is important here-" she poked his chest for emphasis. "-is that you _killed_ Officer Lisa in your new book!"

"Ziva," McGee repeated slowly, reading the pages as he gathered them from the floor. "Where did you get this?"

"From Tony!" she cried, glaring at McGee. "Why did you kill me, McGee? Am I not a good partner? I protect you, yes? Why did you kill me?" She was beginning to get upset, and McGee wasn't sure what to do.

"Um," he tried. "I didn't?"

"Yes, you did, McTragic," Tony chimed as he strolled into the bullpen, holding a similar stack of pages. "Killed her dead. Right after Agent Tommy professed his deep, abiding love for her. On page eighty-five of your new McNovel." Tony stared at McGee. "We need to chat, Probie. No way I'm confessing any sort of anything to her." He jerked his thumb towards Ziva.

"Tommy and Lisa are based on you guys, they're not actually you guys," McGee said rhetorically, knowing that they wouldn't listen. "And Ziva – I mean, Lisa – isn't dead."

"Yes I am!" Ziva cried, plunging her hand into the messy stack of papers and somehow coming up with exactly the one she needed. "'Officer Lisa's eyes closed and her hand fell limply to the ground. Agent Tommy held her, cradled in his arms, his silent tears falling from his cheeks and splashing on her pale face.'" She looked up from the page and glared full-force at McGee. "I died in your new book, McGee." She shook the page at him. "Died!"

McGee took the page from her grasp. "No, you didn't," he said again. "Ziva, you – _Officer Lisa_ is fine. Well, not fine, I guess, because she's unconscious and the building is on fire, but she's going to be okay. I think."

"Wait, the building's on fire?" Tony yelped. "I'm stuck in a burning building with an unconscious chick and no backup?"

Ziva's glare turned to Tony. "I am not a coward," she hissed. Tony looked confused for a moment.

"Chick, Ziva, not chicken. Girl. Lady. Woman," he clarified. "Not chicken, which means coward."

Ziva's glare intensified. "I am not a coward, and I do not like being objectified," she said calmly, walking towards Tony, who shrank back into his corner.

"Sorry?" Tony offered, his voice slightly higher than usual.

"You should be," McGee muttered, and suddenly, he was the focus again.

"So I am only unconscious?" Ziva asked, a curious expression on her face. It was oddly out of place, considering the rest of her body was poised to kill Tony, but McGee barely even noticed.

"Lisa will be fine," McGee assured her. "I couldn't kill off one of the most popular characters in the book before the hundredth page."

"I am one of the most popular characters?" Ziva said, a full smile appearing on her face. Her hands dropped to her sides and her posture relaxed, and McGee could see Tony's face fill with relief behind that.

"Yeah," McGee said. "People love MacGregor, and they love Lisa, and they love Tibbs."

"And me?" Tony piped up. "Who could dislike me?"

McGee frowned. "They like Tommy okay, Tony. He's not usually anyone's favorite, though."

Tony pouted. "They don't like me," he sulked. "Why don't they like me?"

Ziva rolled her eyes. "I can think of a few reasons," she muttered under her breath, heading back to her chair.

"Like what?" Tony protested loudly. Too loudly, apparently; Gibbs glared at him as he strode into the bullpen.

"I don't care, DiNozzo," he said gruffly to Tony's attempts at an explanation as he sat in his chair. "McGee."

"Yeah, boss?" McGee said, looking up from his computer. He'd been pretending to work since he saw Gibbs exit the elevator.

Gibbs held up a now-familiar stack of papers. "Why'd you kill Ziva?"

* * *

So... it might be a while before I update again. I'm moving this weekend (ahh!) and have an interview for a new job (ahh!) so there's a lot going on... hopefully it won't keep me away from my writing for too long!


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